


won't you make a home out of the spaces in my heart

by smudgesofink



Series: TsukkiYama Week 2020 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, In which Tsukishima is Soft for Yamaguchi and Yamaguchi alone, M/M, Post-Canon, Timeskip TsukkiYama, TsukkiYama Week 2020, brief cameo of Akiteru, this is my TsukkiYama agenda for 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: Tadashi scoots closer instead, crowds his warmth into Kei’s space and leans up to press a kiss on Kei’s mouth, soft and familiar. Tadashi smiles when he leans back. “Welcome home, Kei.”When Kei kisses him again, Tadashi tastes like strawberries and tenderness.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Series: TsukkiYama Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892416
Comments: 12
Kudos: 258
Collections: TsukkiYama Week 2020





	won't you make a home out of the spaces in my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 - Domestic | TsukkiYama Week 2020

There is an apartment. Small-ish but shared, with walls of chipping paint.

There are two mugs in the dish rack. One reasonably blue, another an unapologetic bright green dinosaur color. (Tadashi keeps buying things that remind him of Kei’s Sendai Frogs uniform.)

There is a double bed that smells of salonpas and cologne and Yamaguchi’s coconut shampoo. There is a closet with an organizational system that changes every week (they still can’t decide how to spilt the drawers) and a coffee table Tadashi bought from thrift store that’s just on the side of too low for both of them.

There is a home.

Kei comes back to it every time with a click of his house keys and a murmur of _I’m home_.

Some days, it’s loud with activity. One of their senpai or kouhai visits, and Kei comes home to find Tadashi chatting brightly with Tanaka-san or Suga-san or some other person, and Kei changes out of his clothes just fast enough so he can join Tadashi with playing host.

Some days, it smells of home cooking, with Tadashi in the kitchen frowning over a YouTube tutorial of stir-fried chicken and the onions sweating on the pan.

Some days, it’s quiet. Tadashi has fallen asleep on the old blue couch that their friends keep unsubtly asking them to replace already. He’s curled up and snoring away on the threadbare seats, one of his legs dangling out and his stomach exposed. Kei stands on the open doorway and debates the pros and cons of taking a picture.

(It’s always meant to be for blackmail. But Kei forgets to ever tease Tadashi about the pictures and so they stay undeleted in his phone gallery forever, one picture after another in an ever-growing collection.)

A glance at the kitchen table settles it for him—a glossy box from the bakery down the street that Kei has claimed his favorite sits on the tabletop, no doubt containing a slice of strawberry short cake.

Kei steps into the bedroom. Changes out of his work clothes, comes back to the kitchen to boil water, brews two mugs of Tadashi’s favorite tea. He sets the mugs down on the (unnecessarily) low coffee table, brings a fork and the cake box, and moves Tadashi’s legs over his lap so he can sit on the end of the couch and eat his cake.

Tadashi wakes up 5 minutes later, blinking blearily at Kei eating cake.

“That’s mine,” he accuses.

“No, it’s not,” Kei counters.

“No, it’s not,” Tadashi agrees easily and chuckles. He sits up, sees the other mug of tea. “Mine?”

“Yours.”

“Thank youuu.”

They stay like that for a while. Kei with his cake, Tadashi with his tea and his legs propped up over Kei’s lap. When Tadashi finally sets his empty mug back down, Kei feeds him the last bite of cake. The timing is a little off and a bit of frosting catches on Tadashi’s lip.

Kei clicks his tongue just as Tadashi laughs. He looks like a messy 5 year-old who ate dessert.

“Don’t be grumpy,” Tadashi says. He doesn’t wipe the frosting off.

He scoots closer instead, crowds his warmth into Kei’s space and leans up to press a kiss on Kei’s mouth, soft and familiar. Tadashi smiles when he leans back. “Welcome home, Kei.”

When Kei kisses him again, Tadashi tastes like strawberries and tenderness.

///

Akiteru drops by to visit sometimes. Tadashi calls Kei from the bedroom as he washes the dishes from breakfast, and Kei gives a sigh but accepts his brother’s bear hug from the front door nonetheless.

“I love what you’ve done with the place!” Akiteru gasps like it’s still his first time seeing the apartment.

Kei’s face pinches. “You don’t have to do the same joke every time.”

“But it’s funny!”

In front of the sink, Tadashi laughs, because Tadashi is a traitor.

Kei rolls his eyes just as his older brother gestures to his boyfriend as if to say _see?_ “Tadashi, don’t encourage him.”

“But it’s funny,” Tadashi echoes impishly and Akiteru laughs and Kei once again confronts the reality that this is what he signed up for when he fell in love with his childhood friend. He denies any and all accusations about him being fond.

///

There are Sundays of shared days-off.

Sometimes, Kei wakes up early and gets up to make breakfast. Tadashi likes his eggs sunny-side up and extra crispy on the edges.

Sometimes, Kei sleeps in and wakes up late to the sound of Tadashi chatting with his mother. He goes out and finds brunch waiting for him in the kitchen.

Sometimes, Kei wakes up before Tadashi and decides to stay anyway. Just for a moment. Just for another five minutes. Tadashi is beautiful when he is asleep—he is beautiful awake and beautiful when tired and beautiful when laughing, but asleep like this, Tadashi is peaceful and still enough for Kei to really look at him.

The cluster of his freckles, the slope of his nose, the line of his mouth. His hair, messy on the pillows. His murmurs soft as he dreams.

Sometimes, Kei’s eyes find Tadashi aching and lovely. He refuses to look at anything else.

///

One time, Kei watches Tadashi fold laundry on their ratty blue couch—he’s humming the Steven Universe theme song under his breath, a neon green hair clip annoyingly cute in his dark hair—and Kei’s chest feels like it’s full of sunflowers and close to bursting. Feels like the shore as the ocean comes rushing back to embrace it whole and drowning. Like the moon and its helpless urge to forever follow the earth.

He thinks, _Tadashi,_ _remember when I used to not pay attention to you? How stupid was I?_

He thinks, _Tadashi, I’m not good at this and you’re making me feel so much and I don’t know what to do with it._

Thinks, _Tadashi, I want this. Every day. Just this._

“Tadashi,” Kei says. “Love you.”

His throat clogs up as soon as he speaks it, and his face burns. It’s as if his body is physically rebelling against him feeling things. But then he risks a glance up at his boyfriend, and Tadashi’s looking at him with stupidly fond eyes and a stupidly bright grin and—

“I love you too, Kei.”

It’s worth it.

It’s always worth it.

///

There is an apartment. Small-ish but shared, and warm with the footsteps of visitors who often drop by.

There are two mugs. Two toothbrushes. Two pillows on the double bed, and bed sheets that smell of comfort and coconut shampoo.

There is a home with a ratty blue couch and a too low coffee table.

There is a home with Tadashi in it.

Kei comes back to him every time.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tsukki is becoming sappier and sappier. I'm sorry. Tadashi is just too beautiful, please save him.
> 
> Kudos and comments are more than welcome! Scream about Haikyuu with me on Twitter (@smudgesofinktw1) <3 <3 <3


End file.
